Lost and Alone
by bluebruise
Summary: Arthur Kirkland lives alone with his abusive father after the divorce of his parents. All he remembers is his mother taking his brothers with her when she left, but the new boy in school, Allistor, seems far too familiar. Fail summary is fail. D: T for my paranoia, ScotxEng, UK family and hinted PruAus. c:
1. Chapter 1

**A.N, so saying as I'm so obsessed and only write APH fanfics, well so far, it's fun O-O THIS IS MY FIRST FIC WITH MY OC. C: ENJOOOOOOY.**

Arthur awoke that morning to the shrill ringing of his alarm. He burrowed his head under the blankets as the piercing tone rang through the silent, cool early air of his bedroom. The frail British teen let off a frustrated groan as he emerged from under the warm covers, exhaling sharply as the cool atmosphere hit him, contrasting to the comfortable heat of his bed.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, swatting his hand to the top of the noise pollution offender. As the pitchy ringing halted, Arthur allowed himself to collapse back into the sheets which welcomed him with soothing warmth.

But then he realised he had a school to get to; much to his… delight. He heaved his heavy bones out of bed, dragging himself out of his room to the bathroom, making sure to grab a shirt from the floor. He noted with disgust the dried paint collecting around the rim of his bedroom from where it was peeling and falling from his wall, and the aged blood splatters littering the saturated white paint of the door; just like it was artistic graffiti. The Brit's movements became rigid as he passed by _their_ room; the scent was still fresh with an undertone of Embassy Red cigarettes, curtsey of _her. _The room had remained untouched since _she_ left, and was the only room that remained presentable and clean. Arthur absentmindedly wondered how his father could still manage to sleep in there, but then that's probably why he usually passed out at a local bar or on the front doorstep when he comes back from the bar. He shrugged, willing himself to push past the room with a sigh.

He stepped into the bathroom, neatly folding the shirt as he laid it down on the broken washing basket, treating it with the same tenderness you should with your most valued possessions. He let out another sigh, catching sight of himself in the mirror. A pair of emerald eyes stared back at him quizzically when he inspected himself, at first to prove that actually was himself he was inspecting. His blonde hair was tousled and greasy from the night, and it fell in thick strands over his garish pale face. His eyes were outlined with tired black bags, and from the neck down, his chest was covered with dark bruises that were the same shade.

He could only think to sigh and furrow his thick eyebrows as he tore his eyes from the unrecognisable boy that was looking back to him through the mirror, concentrating on discarding his pyjamas to shower. He winced, brushing a hand over the back of his neck and hit another fresh mark from the night before. Trying to ignore the grimy tiles that were spewing a black mould around the shower, he flicked the switch and steamy water began to fall. The hot water soothed his beaten skin, the steam making the air more humid and comfortingly sticky.

Arthur mumbled to himself, grabbing a cream towel from the icy metal radiator. Well, previously cream but now a dingy yellow colour flecked with dirty black specks. Once he finished drying himself and rubbing his hair with the towel, he pulled on the shirt he'd collected, and then made his way back along the hall to his room. He feebly kicked an empty beer can that was carelessly dropped by his door. He froze, glancing around frantically as soon as the metallic clank from the can echoed throughout the house. Arthur didn't want to wake his father. When no reaction came, Arthur was vaguely satisfied that his father wasn't in. He was probably out getting dangerously intoxicated, even if it was just after 8 in the morning. Again, Arthur sighed, and switched his attention towards getting dressed.

Finishing his tie, he forced himself to look in the mirror again. This time, he looked slightly better. He still looked weary and tired, but he was wearing the cleanest clothes he could find; which he hoped would exclude how sickly his skin was. He was wearing a faded blue shirt, top button formally fastened to hide a bruise lurking at the base of his neck and his black tie. It wasn't as if anyone would question him about it anyway, because nobody even bothered to acknowledge him at all. He wore his black school sweater, previously of perfect fit but now uncomfortably baggy around his slim frame. Running a hand through his hair, he attempted to give himself a reassuring smile. The grin only slightly twitched the corners of his mouth, quirking them up gently.

Maybe there was someone who was actually looking forward to seeing him at school.

Maybe. Unlikely.

_Impossible. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N – I'd just like to thank you all for the follows and review. I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. Hope you enjoy :'D**

**Disclaimer – I don't own Hetalia, as much as I'd like to marry Austria…. Oh how very Belarus of me. BUT I DO OWN ABBY. I've probably stressed that too much since I'm so excited. kfjehrjje**

Arthur heard it before he saw it, the delighted shrieks and girlish laughter bubbling up and melting away into the bright autumn morning sky. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, coating the village buildings with a warm, comforting light; but the icy bite of the air contrasted greatly. The buzz of exited chatter from the school clouded the atmosphere, getting louder as the Brit got closer. Arthur found his body protesting against him trying to get to school, his mind tempting him to turn and just run back home. Not that he'd enjoy himself or be any safer there. Pushing the thoughts forcefully out of his head, willing his sticky feet to keep walking despite the hatred of the place he was going, he hitched his heavy bag further onto his shoulder. A faint smell of cigarette smoke passed him, threading through his nostrils and causing him to cough as politely and discreetly as he could muster. A fist- fight with the smoker about the problems he had with smoke was all he needed.

"Hey, Artie!" a cheerful voice chimed from behind him, quick footsteps were approaching him, "Gott, you look like you're about to burst into tears, man." Arthur gritted his teeth at the casual way his nickname 'Artie' was used. He hated it. Almost as much as he hated the bullies, the people who completely ignored him, and greasy but bland cafeteria food, and school in general, really. However, he felt a little reassured to find a short, ginger ("It's copper!"), Austrian girl joining his side.

"Good morning, Abigail," he greeted formally as always, earning a small kind snigger.

"What's so good about it?" she grinned happily, before she gave a sharp breath for her mouth to spill out more smoke. So she was the one behind the smoke that caused Arthur to gag. Arthur found himself grinning back, he couldn't help it. The genuine happiness of the Austrian girl was proving contagious. If there was something about this school he could actually tolerate; it was Abigail. Even though the two weren't particularly close, she was just so cheerful and kind all the time; it was hard not to catch on. Arthur had spent so long a few years ago using that stupid magic he believed in to make himself and Abby more than just acquaintances. Problem was though; she was best friends with Arthur's biggest tormentor, part of the school's Bad Touch Trio, the one and only 'awesome' Gilbert Beilschmidt. Not to mention his bloody stupid bird.

"Good point," Arthur replied flatly. Abby gave her British friend a knowing smile, before falling into a comfortable silence to take another desperate draw on her cigarette. When they both turned into the school driveway, the Austrian smashed her cigarette down furiously on the gate post, in a quick violent motion.

"Hate it when they keep smouldering," she acknowledged vaguely. Arthur simply nodded, trying not to be fazed and walking on with the girl by his side.

"Abbaaaaay!" called the shrill voice after Abigail. The voice sounded vaguely smug and extremely obnoxious, immediately making Arthur ball up his fists and dig his nails sharply into his sweaty palms in pure irritation. Or was it fear? Arthur's pace increased, not caring anymore about being polite. He just wanted to get away from that albino bastard whose voice boomed to greet his friend. The same albino who made every moment of school life hell. It wasn't just him, it was his whole gang of friends, but Arthur preferred it when fellow students just refused to acknowledge his existence at all; which none of them ever really did, exception of Abby. It was better than the harsh comments he received from Gilbert and his Trio.

"Why the hell are you hanging around with _Kirkland_?" Gilbert's voice echoed, harsh chuckles erupting from the albino, followed by a quick defensive retort from Abby,

"Leave Arthur alone!"

The Brit had heard enough from them, his pace and expression was spilling out urgency as he bolted into school, clearly making his way to the only place he could find some kind of sanctuary. The library. On his way, he made the bad, stupid move to look behind him – flickering hope that Abby could have followed him. No such luck, she wasn't really his friend after all.

"Shit, sorry!" a stuttering Scottish accent gasped as they collided. Arthur was hit with force from the other student, causing him to crash to the floor. His bag was ripped open and thrown over his shoulder from the impact, his books spilling out and littering the floor.

"Are y'alright?" the Scotsman asked, sounding genuinely concerned, holding his hand out to Arthur.

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped quickly, a little more bitterly than intended, refusing to take the outstretched palm that was offered to him and stood snottily by himself. He heard a grumble of something that sounded like another apology, before the culprit walked off down the hallway, leaving him to sort himself out. Arthur caught a brief glimpse of fiery ginger shaggy hair, and emerald eyes that were almost the same shade of brilliant green as his own before he looked away. Something about that boy was screaming familiarity at him.

"Morning, Arthur!" the librarian greeted him warmly, seeming quite pleased to see one of her most regulars. He nodded to her respectfully, returning the friendly smile the middle-aged woman shot him.

At least Arthur found some kind of friend in her.

Arthur took a seat gingerly, and crossed one leg over the other, wincing as his angled body caused the arm of the chair to dig into his abused back. He found his thoughts moving back to the boy he had the… messy encounter with. He was more than certain he'd never seen him before around, maybe he was new?

It was just something… the way he carried himself… his eyes, which made him seem uncomfortably familiar.

_I live at home with my father. Only my father. My alcoholic, abusive father. Things never used to be this way, back when my family was a proper family. But then my mother left, no reason clear, took everything with her. My father was first to call custardy of me, but my mother took my brothers. All of them. We've never had any contact since. They could be anywhere in the world by now. I'd noticed father becoming more careless after the divorce, he was letting the house get filthy, shabby and disgusting. He was taking in extremely dangerous amounts of alcohol night after night, and that's when everything changed._

_I can't remember clearly much more about my mother or what happened, but I know I had brothers. Lots of brothers. Two elder , both ginger and one, the most annoying little shit ever, little brother._

"Artie, Gott! You look like you're about to cry again!" Abby cried desperately, shaking him gently, attempting to get him out of the trance. Arthur was sat rigidly in the library, and Abby had been called as she passed by the librarian to help get him out of his strange glassy-eyed state.

"Abby?"

"Ja! Come on. Lesson bell just rang."

Arthur's thoughts were ripped away by the gentle words of Abigail, who lightly took his wrist as he still looked slightly dizzy from thinking. He and Abby were in the same lesson now, English Lit. Unfortunately, so was the Trio. Gilbert was worst, but the Frenchman that stayed by his side was just as bad. The way he laughed in that perverted suggestive chuckle made Arthur's stomach churn. The Spaniard that stayed with them, Antonio, wasn't that bad. He was friendlier, always wearing the same cheerful smile – which opposed to Gilbert's ever present smug smirk.

"What are you thinking about?" Abby enquired, once again rudely snapping away at his thoughts. Arthur pursed his lips and furrowed his brows, knowing all too well he couldn't tell her what he was thinking about.

"Nothing," he mumbled, but he refused to meet her eyes.

"Come on man," she said softy, running her thumb consolingly along his elbow – which she still had hold of to drag him along, "I know we're not the closest, but you can tell me anything," she paused meaningfully, "you know that, right?"

"Right," Arthur replied uncertainly. When they arrived at the classroom, Abigail turned to give him one of her sweet and genuine smiles. Her eyes were shining in fresh violet sincerity behind her glasses before she sauntered off. She took her seat at the very back of the room on the trademarked table of the trio, next to the snide silverette - who promptly high fived her. Settling into his own seat, closer to the front and next to Matthew, a quiet Canadian that everyone seemed to forget, (Matthew, who?) and his louder more bubbly brother, Alfred. Who wasn't present?

"Is Alfred sick, Matthew?" Arthur heard himself ask, despite his disinterest. Finally, they could get through a lesson without constant childish whining from the American, about how hungry he was, how he was bored, how he was craving McDonalds…

"Y-y-yes," Matthew replied shakily, his voice not rising higher than that of a whisper. Matthew seemed reluctant to talk, as he always did. In all fairness, if you were caught making any kind of conversation with Arthur Kirkland, you were an absolute nobody from then on, again with the exception of Abby. Arthur just gave him an understanding sigh, concentrating on pulling his books out from his bag.

"Settle down class!" the teacher called, "I SAID SETTLE DOWN!" he called again after a pause, but with more rage to his tone. His gazed angled towards the back table and his eyes shot daggers towards Abigail, who was busying herself play smacking Antonio. Abby shrugged and backed into her seat, leaning back on her chair towards the window, so that her copper hair glinted in the chalky sunlight that was pouring through the window.

"This is our new student," the teacher acknowledged finally. A tall boy stood by his side, not awkwardly, but almost easily. The boy looked so as ease, like he didn't have a care in the world. Even his uniform was strangely attractively careless, the way his first two buttons hung undone and they were followed by the thin, loose knot of his black tie. He looked like the type of boy who'd be easily angered, despite his calm exterior. The type of boy who reminded him of an older brother, but that was impossible. Seemed like the type of boy to get popular quickly. Arthur felt himself looking closer, feeling a small pang of envy.

Bloody hell! It was the same boy he'd knocked into – or rather, smashed into. He had the same bright hair, the same twin eyes, and same bright orange bushy eyebrows, same sharp facial features. Or just for Abby's sake – 'copper' eyebrows.

"I'm Allistor," he introduced himself, "Allistor Kirkland."

…And the same Scottish accent to top it off.

"Ha!" Gilbert snorted, "Not another fucking Kirkland, kesesese!"

"Gil!" Abby snapped in a steely warning tone - only she could really pull off a voice like that with the obnoxious albino without getting a few bones broken. Her gaze was still set on the new boy, in a high school teenager dreamy way, "he's kinda cute."

"Ginger, like you," Antonio teased kindly, and the two began their fit of giggles.

"Oi, Kirkland!" Gilbert yelled from the back boldly to the new Scotsman, obviously ignoring the light hearted bickering between the Spaniard and Austrian girl. Allistor just turned a nonchalant glance to him,

"Are you and Arthur related?" Gilbert motioned with his arm to the blonde Kirkland in the class, and Allistor changed the target of his even glance. For a second his expression went from perfectly calm to mildly shocked, his eyebrows knitting themselves together… seemingly recognising Arthur, before he finally spoke up,

"Never seen him befer in m'life."

"But you have the same last name and he looks just like you!" the red-eyed albino whinged, clearly not getting the answer he desired. Another Kirkland to pick on, what fun.

"Enough!" the teacher glowered at Gilbert, then nodded to the empty seat where Alfred usually sat to Allistor. Allistor moved with a simple, easy grace that made him look extremely free willed.

Allistor Kirkland. Same last name. Similar eyes. Scottish. Maybe there was a reason behind why the boy seemed so familiar.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N – Just like, thank you so much for the reviews and follows! C': Lots of dialogue in this, and it's a bit carry on… I DON'T KNOW :c I also apologise for Allistor's accent ;-; **

"B-b-but, Sir," Matthew enquired timidly, his voice shaking as it pretty much always did as Allistor took his seat.

"Who said that?" mocked Gilbert snidely, but again was quickly silenced by a hard glare from the teacher. Needless to say, he wasn't as horrendously popular with teachers as he was with students.

"My b-b-brother usually s-s-sits t-t-there," Matthew continued softly, trying a little too hard to ignore what was being so rudely said behind him.

"But he's not here," Arthur and the teacher informed him in unison, Arthur sighing his words impatiently, even though the fact the American wasn't there was perfectly clear,

"Besides, it's probably only for one lesson." Allistor glanced at Arthur sympathetically, sensing his annoyance with having to state the obvious.

"It's most likely he got a door in his home blocked with hamburger wrappers and can't get out," Roderich, who was sitting in his usual lordly fashion across the table, commented in his aristocratic heavily Austrian accented tone.

"True, Specs!" snorted Gilbert, hearing the words of the other Austrian. Even Abby and Antonio, this time, were looking like they were about to explode from trying to hold their laughter in. Allistor, on the other hand – was keeping especially quiet, a genuine confused look on his face. Roderich winced slightly, and adjusted his glasses so they sat on the very tip of his nose, exposing the stormy violet hues of his eyes.

"Please refrain from calling me that, Gilbert," he offered meekly, his voice not matching the scornful expression set in his creamy skin. But now, his face also carried a heavy pink blush that scattered his cheeks. But then he noted Allistor's expression, "when you meet Alfred, you'll know."

The Austrian soon hushed after that, it wasn't usual he said that much anyway, except if he was snapping at Gilbert. Arthur heard someone deliberately screw up a small piece of paper with a short harsh crunching sound, and shortly after, Abby smoothly proceeded to the bin. She looked determined not to be caught, as the teacher was furiously scribbling notes for the students on the board.

"It's rumoured, you know," Abby poked her head enthusiastically in between Arthur and Allistor, "they've got something going on." She motioned discreetly towards the other Austrian and the red-eyed albino, a small childish smirk ghosting across her face, her own purple eyes lighting mischievously. Arthur really couldn't help noticing how her eyes were almost the same shade as Roderich's, which was slightly strange.

"Anyway!" she turned to Allistor, "I'm Abigail and this is Arthur!" she happily offered Allistor her hand, beaming at him. That's the thing about Abby. She basically asks for confidence from people instead of demanding it, making her so stupidly hard to dislike.

"Awrite, Abigail," the red-headed new boy greeted casually, taking Abby's hand, "Awrite, Arthur."

"Dios Mio, Abby! Come see what Francis can do with his thumb!" Antonio called excitedly, followed by a sharp gasp of disgust from Gilbert, and the perverted chuckles of the Frenchman.

"Duty calls," Arthur said dryly, and Abby nodded, grinning.

"Are you sure you're not related? You look so alike!" she chirped rhetorically before she turned to skip away to her friends. The Brit sighed gently and shook his head, beginning to flick through the textbook that was conveniently placed in front of him. Arthur became vaguely aware of Allistor staring at the Bad Touch Trio and their very-welcome plus one – still making disgusted little squeals at Francis' thumb. A thin smile tugged his lips in a brief unreachable amusement.

"She always s'quirky?" the Scotsman asked. Arthur shrugged, looking around and then being completely sure he wasn't been overheard. The teacher was still scribbling, Matthew was copying intently into his classbook, completely oblivious to pretty much everything and as for Roderich, he was concentrating on drumming his perfectly slender pianist fingers against the edge of the desk rhythmically.

"An' who're 'ay, an' why aw 'ay givin' ye filthy looks?" Allistor continued his quizzing, nodding discreetly towards the trio at the back of the room. Sure enough, Gilbert and Francis were no longer being amused by bent thumbs and sending him daggers. Icy sapphire and fiery scarlet met forest amethyst as Arthur's eyes made contact with theirs, which of course was their cue to turn away sniggering. Antonio, on the other hand – gave him a small feeble smile, and Abby gave a tiny sheepish wave.

"Oh, that's Francis, Gilbert and Antonio, Abby you've met. Just don't give them any reason to hate you and you'll sail through school," Arthur replied breezily, raising a hand and giving it a reassuring airy wave.

"The lass seems awright," the Scotsman admitted, "'ey Arthur? Can I stay wi' ye fer today? Ye seem awright too," he paused, as if he was considering his words – even though he did seem like the type of 'say whatever I want, whenever the fuck I feel like it' kind of person, "ye should meet m'bruthers,"

Arthur heard Roderich gasp, and his tapping stopped as he turned to stare at the Scotsman who'd just asked a forbidden question. Asking to hang around with Arthur was a one-way ticket into the 'no one likes me' club.

"Sure," Arthur replied quietly, his voice dropping considerably as he tried not to notice the shocked aristocrat across the table. As soon as the question was out in the open, Arthur didn't regret his answer. There was something strange about the new boy he was determined to get to the bottom of, especially the fact that two people had now asked if they were related…

**(Really bad) Scottish accent translation –**

**Awright – hello. **

**She always s'quirky? – Is she always that quirky?**

**An' who're 'ay, an' why aw 'ay givin' ye filthy looks? – And who are they, and why are they giving you filthy looks?**

**The lass seems awright – The girl seems alright.**

**'ey Arthur? Can I stay wi' ye fer today? Ye seem awright too. – Hey, Arthur. Can I stay with you for today? You seem alright too.**

**ye should meet m'bruthers. – You should meet my brothers.**


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the bell went to indicate the end of lesson, more than half the class simply bolted out of the door, including Gilbert and his cohorts. So quickly, in fact, Arthur swore he felt the quick wind that whipped from them.

"Ne'd a smoke," Allistor murmured bluntly as he stood, straightening the loose knot of his tie that hung from his unbuttoned collar.

"You can come with me!" Abby chimed in suddenly, causing Allistor to almost jump ten feet in the air with the shock of the small unnoticed girl standing directly behind him. After he composed himself, he shot a helpless look at Arthur and ran a nervous hand through his wild hair. Nervous movements as such really didn't suit his posture, which was still slumped and extremely casual. Arthur let himself grin, although it was forced and somewhat pained before he nodded.

"Where's Gil, Abigail?" the Brit asked, suddenly conscious.

"Oh, he's at his locker with Ludwig! You coming, Allistor?" she squealed her question a little too excitedly, but the Scotsman didn't seem to notice and nodded in defeat, following her out. Arthur began to pack up his things that were littered across the table, thanks to Roderich, who'd almost fainted on the spot when Gilbert's bird flew over to give him a note. Arthur didn't know what it said, but if it was Gilbert, it'd be something vulgar.

The Scotsman headed outside with Abby, leading him outside and right the way down to the bottom of the yard, passing lots of other students, all chattering happily, into a small corner behind a grungy old shed.

"Ye got a light?" he asked softly, feeling quite awkward. The girl seemed kind enough, but she hung around with the group that bullied Arthur, right? Allistor didn't know why, but he felt strangely protective over the British boy he befriended, especially when it came to that trio. It seemed he counted Arthur as a friend already, even though the Brit probably wasn't willing. It was almost as if he'd met him before. Allistor silently planned to invite him over after school; he wanted to introduce his brothers… maybe they'd know why he felt so familiar.

"Ja," Abby replied sweetly, fumbling around with her packet and balancing it between two fingers while she dug deep into the pocket of her uniform tight jeans, to pull out a small purple lighter. Same shade as her eyes that were hidden behind her glasses. She lit her own cigarette quickly, then tossed the lighter to the Scotsman, who caught it easily.

"Cheers," he muttered quietly. Abby took a long desperate draw on her cigarette, and eyed the new boy strangely, as if inspecting him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, arriving at her conclusion. From what Abby had already seen, Allistor seemed carefree, but now he was slouching and his sharp face was contorted with deep thought and his bushy eyebrows were drawn together.

"O, no," he replied bluntly, earning a snort of disbelief from the small Austrian girl, the smoke she inhaled heaving down her nose. Despite feeling awkward, he was becoming more and more comfortable with this girl. She was the one who was smiling at Arthur out of the group, after all, so she couldn't be too vile.

"D'ya know why ye fr'ends pick on Arthur?" Allistor heard himself ask before he could stop, but quickly resorted to shoving his own cigarette into his mouth in attempt to clear the air of the question he just fired. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Abby paused, drawing again on the cigarette. Allistor noticed in that particular moment her eyes were not only the same shade of purple as the lighter, but the same shade as that snooty Roderich. Also, her hair was almost the same bright colour as his, but longer. Longer, understatement of the century.

"Well, promise you won't mention I said anything?" she hissed, but she didn't sound snide. The Scotsman nodded, becoming interested.

"Arthur's parents got divorced when he was younger, and his mother took his brothers with her when she left," she tapped the ash from the end of her cigarette, exhaling deeply, "and Gil started to pick on him for it. No one really knows why. But I know that Gil practically had to raise Ludwig, his little brother all by himself, so I think that might have something to do with it."

Allistor had heard enough, and crushed his cigarette despite only having one or two drags of it. Abby was looking at him quizzically.

His parents were divorced, and he lived with his father.

Allistor's parents were divorced, and he lived with his mother and brothers. They had the same last name too.

"Cheers, Ab', I'll talk ta ye later, aye?" he asked as a way of dismissal of himself, making his way about storming off to find Arthur. He needed to speak to him at home.

"No… problem?" Abby replied brightly, but realised she was talking to no one but herself as the Scotsman had already bolted off.

First place Allistor checked was outside of the room he'd had his previous lesson in, and he was lucky.

"Gilbird is awesome, danke! You wanna fucking say that again, Kirky?" was snarled from around the corner. Allistor immediately recognised the obnoxious mocking tone, and began to fear what was actually going on around there. He willed himself to look, and his eyes fell on the silver-haired albino pinning the Brit to the wall with one hand, his entire body shaking in rage. Arthur was looking equally scathing.

"Come on, Gil! Let's not cause a scene," the Spaniard complained, feebly moving forward to weave one of his slim tanned arms around his friend's shoulders. Antonio? Allistor remembered their names. Francis, the blonde Frenchman was cowered in a nearby corner by some lockers, seemingly shying away from the red-eyed albino in his outburst.

"Scared, Frog face?" Arthur spat tauntingly, shooting a glare to the quivering blonde. He was brave…

Gilbert took this as an opportunity, and gave Arthur a short, sharp blow to the stomach which caused the blonde Brit to double over. He was about to go to punch him in the face, but Allistor decided to step in at that point. No one treated his friends like that.

"Ye m'wanna let him go," he drawled simply, walking forward casually to rest his back against the wall by the side of the French man – who seemed to come out of his fear-shell more at the sight of the Scotsman.

"Or what, ginge?" Gilbert snapped, not releasing his hold on Arthur. He went to land the punch again, but Francis had stepped forward to grab his arm.

"He's right, mon ami," the Frenchman said consolingly, "it's not worth a trip to the principal's office." Gilbert turned to Allistor, who kept his calm position against the wall. The albino's eyes were filled with corrosive rage, that burned deep within his crimson depths. He let his grip on Arthur go, which caused the Brit to collapse into a fully doubled over position. Gilbert allowed himself to be dragged away by Francis.

"You better watch your fucking back, ginge," he hissed as he passed Allistor.

"Y'awright?" the Scotsman asked, wrenching himself from the wall and sauntering to the Brit, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders, while helping him straighten up.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Arthur spat at him, questioning why he defended him. He gave a hard shove, attempting to knock the Scotsman away from him.

"Protect m'friends," he replied simply, "listen, Arthur, d'ya w'nna come meet me bruther's t'night a'fta school?" The question shocked Arthur, but he nodded anyway. What was that all about and why did the Scotsman want him to meet his brothers so desperately?

**(Really bad) Scottish translation – **

**N'ed a smoke – I need a smoke.**

**Ye got a light? – Have you got a lighter?**

**D'ya know why ye fr'ends pick on Arthur? – Do you know why your friends pick on Arthur?**

**Cheers, Ab', I'll talk ta ye later, aye? – Thanks Abby, I'll talk to you later, right?**

**Ye m'wanna let him go – You might want to let him go.**

**Y'awright? – You alright?**

**Protect m'friends – I protect my friends.**

**Listen, Arthur, d'ya w'nna come meet me bruther's t'night a'fta school? – Listen Arthur, do you want to come and meet my brothers after school?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N – Had a bit of a block with this. So it might not make sense, D: I SUCK. This contains some violence, blood and guts and… stuff. Not serious blood and gore BUT YOUR WARNING IS HERE. Thank you for all the follows and reviews! Means a lot. C: Hope you enjoy!**

"Can't believe it's fifth period already," Abby said in a shocked manner as she sat herself down in the seat next to the pale faced Brit.

"Mm," he acknowledged vaguely, seeming to be deep in concentration in the act of getting his books from his bag. The class was set out differently from the rooms that they had previously been in, with tables scattered about the room big enough to fit six people. In last lesson, Arthur sat with Abigail and Roderich, Gil and his cohorts weren't present. Except now Allistor was there too. Buzz of light conversation was washing through the room, girlish laughter bubbling up, then quickly fizzling away as it met the teacher's stern steely gaze.

"S'aw ye catching m'bus tonigh'?" Allistor asked, fumbling in his pockets to find his pen before the teacher finished his scribbling on the board.

"Only if you wait for me, but I'm going to my house first," he nodded, a small confused smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth, which was then returned as a nod from the Scotsman.

"I'll come too," Abby offered, "where you two going?"

"I'm going to Allistor's to meet his brothers," Arthur told her matter-of-factly, still quite dizzy with the strange familiar feeling he was getting with the new Scottish boy. But he was getting used to it.

"Oh… I'll walk with Gil then… Hey Artie?"

"Mm?" Arthur responded to the question quietly as the Austrian girl slowly leaned in closer to him, her eyes not leaving Allistor or Roderich just to check they weren't listening, and she spoke softly – almost as if she knew she was dealing with a dogdy matter,

"Do you two know each other? You surely look related?"

"No! Gosh!" Arthur retorted in an annoyed tone, jerking his head back away from Abby, although he wasn't sure himself. He was positive he'd never met Allistor before, wasn't he? Surely there was no possibility they were related.

"I agree with Abigail," Roderich commented, overhearing their conversation, "You do look like you're related!"

"W'r not related," Allistor scoffed in confirmation, seeming taken aback by the possibility, but in himself not seeming too sure either. Abby's eyes shot to Roderich, that mischievous grin spreading her face and lighting a purple spark in her framed eyes,

"What did you make of the note from Gil?" she drawled cheekily, the grin widening when Roderich's head snapped up and his steely purple eyes met her own.

"It was repulsive," he snapped disgustedly, his face screwing up at the bitter memory. Abby just laughed in his face.

"We'd better get on," Arthur interrupted kindly, gesturing towards the blackboard that had all kinds of gibberish notes littered on it.

As usual the lesson dragged by, to the point where it made Arthur want to start pulling every blonde lock out of his head individually. Nothing out of the usual. Ludwig was yelling at Feliciano; Lovino was yelling back at Ludwig for yelling at his _fratello_, Abby was teasing Roderich about Gilbert and Roderich was making repulsed faces at the mentions of Gilbert… Arthur was being ignored by everyone, except the Scotsman, who kept throwing reassuring and excitable glances in his way. When the bell rang, everyone apart from the three rushed out of the class, all shoving each other happily as their laughter symphonised through the hallways. Arthur slipped his bag over his shoulder and stood, wincing as the feeling rushed back into his calves after being in the same position for so long. Abby grinned to him, hitching her Marvel Superheroes bag onto her own shoulder before reaching out to pat the Brit's shoulder. She caught sight of the red-eyed albino who was waiting for her outside the room, and grinned a little wider. The grin turned into a full on smirk when she saw that Roderich outside too, talking to that same red-eyed albino.

"I'm sorry for asking if you were related," she met Arthur's fresh green eyes, her purple depths sparkling with sincerity, "you're my friend. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah… tomorrow," Arthur mumbled to himself as she turned away, and listened to the over-joyed screams as she met Gilbert.

"Yenor my address, aye? I'll s'ye there," Allistor was suddenly behind him, grinning to Abby as she waved them both goodbyes.

"Yes, I won't be long," the British teen hitched his tattered brown bag over his shoulder. As much as he hated school, home time was a dread to him. He was always terrified of going home. But this time he was confused too, as this Scottish new boy, one he felt extremely strange around was asking him to his house. He'd known the boy just under a day, so why was he so interested?

"Take yer time," Allistor smiled before turning with a casual wave to walk out. Arthur shrugged, beginning to walk out too.

The route back to Arthur's house was simple, just back from the school for a couple of blocks. The further back you went, the rougher the area got. Arthur sighed heavily and paused at the street corner of the road that he, unfortunately, lived in. He looked over each house in turn before he arrived at his own. Another heavy pained sigh escaped his lips, seeing the state. Empty beer bottles and rotting cigarette ends were scattered on the wall on the crumbling, chipped red-bricked wall, the faded red front door was falling off the hinges with the pained glass smashed and paint peeling onto the door step. In the corner of every window there were chips that were splattered with blood and doused with filthy black mould. The garden was derelict, just made up of soaked mud, with some more beer bottle caps and cigarette ends floating nastily in dark puddles.

"Where've you been?" called a deep drunken voice as Arthur unlocked the door to sheepishly step inside. The Brit winced when the door slammed itself shut, and a shattering sound of glass split through the air.

"To school, Dad," Arthur shouted back, but his voice wavered and didn't rise higher than that of a stage whisper. A tall man stumbled out into the hallway to stand in front of the blonde Brit, his eyes a bloodshot sky blue. In his hand he clutched another empty bottle, matching the ones that were sprawled out in groups on the rotting floorboards in the hall. He was smiling.

"That's my clever boy!" he slurred, but he sounded affectionate and he ducked his head to plant a sloppy wet kiss on Arthur's cheek. Arthur hurried to wipe it off, in a quick and awkward motion; which made him laugh. He just needed to keep him happy...

"You're drunk, Dad," Arthur muttered, attempting to push past the large man that was standing in front of him.

"I am not!" his Dad rattled back, taking a rough hold of Arthur's shoulders before he could get past. The warmth from his blue eyes had vanished, being replaced by a stormy ocean of blue fury, and there was a violent scowl pulling his slim blonde eyebrows together. The slightest thing could set him off…

"How DARE you accuse me of being drunk?" he snarled, shaking the British boy by the hold he had on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry!" Arthur started to defend himself and blinked rapidly, feeling the warm tears start to form in the back of his eyes from the terror. He'd had enough of this from Gilbert.

"BULLSHIT!" his father fumed, giving him a hard angry shove so he fell onto his knees. Arthur backed up, crawling on his knees into the corner and being followed by his father, looming above him, towering above him and cracking his knuckles. The silhouette of his father toyed with the rim of the beer bottle, silently murmuring to himself before chuckling sinisterly. Without warning, he smashed the glass bottle over Arthur's head. The shattered glass cascaded around his face, slitting into his fair facial skin and jarring into the bloody gashes it created. The Brit cried out in pain as he was struck to the ground, his eyes screwing themselves shut so he could writhe in terror of what was coming next. His father immediately began to pound his feet into his stomach and chest, making him twist in agony beneath him.

"I'll fucking teach you to back chat me."

Arthur screamed instinctively, but there was no one there to listen. Still the kicks pressed into him violently. His father looked far weaker standing above him, his eyes left a dark baggy trail in his pale face, and his once strong body looked as if it was made from twigs. The kicks painfully stung into his stomach and chest, each one more forceful than the other. What was once the untouched pure white of Arthur's skin was now pasted with blemishes as a reminder that it was all his fault. He screamed as the throbbing pain tore through his body, his head tossing forward and backward as the whole room became hazy around him. Still, his father continued his assault with a huge sadistic smirk painted on his smug face. The room began to blur, and Arthur was vaguely aware of more smashed glass skimming his bloodied face. His skin gave in immediately, the glass cutting and scratching and making spurts of a thick crimson liquid.

Arthur was left sprawled on the floor, his black jumper torn and littered with shards of a clear glass that stuck to the material. His blonde hair was drooped into his bitterly frozen face, and carried a scarlet tint that ran deep from the ends of the honey strands. The Brit groaned feebly, aware of his father spitting in his face and walking away, leaving him slumped helpless and njured against the wall.

The last thing Arthur heard before he blacked out, and the velvet comfort of dark unconciousness encased him was,

"It's your entire fault she left."

**(Really bad) Scottish accent translations – **

**S'aw ye catching m'bus tonigh'? – So are you catching my bus tonight?**

**W'r not related – We're not related.**

**Yenor my address, aye? I'll s'ye there – You know my address, right? I'll see you there.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N – HELLO AGAIN, READ THIS PLEASE OR I'LL CRY. So, my OC, Abby aye? I wanted her to represent Vienna, but then she's gotta be Roddy's sister, right? So it's on her profile and stuff. BUT SHE'S NOT AUSTRIA'S SISTER IN THIS. I also wanted to make a new OC for Lewis, the Scottish island. BUT I'M REALLY CONFUSED. Ok, I'm sorry that's all.**

**CONTAINS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, AND ABUSE AND STUFF. MWAH SUCH A HAPPY CHAPTER. I promise I've tried to not make it suck as much as the past ones. Hope you enjoy c:**

"Come on Arthur, pick up the fucking phone!" the panicked Austrian accented voice split through the silent room, the words that were doused with concern echoing throughout the barely conscious Brit's mind. Arthur remained sprawled on the ground, his body limp with his back against the wall.

"Gott!" the phone at the other end of the room erupted again with the same worried voice, "it's not hard to pick up a stupid phone! Where are you? Allistor's worried!"

The Brit let out a string of pained groans as he stirred, the light of reality spilling into his eyelids.

The answering message was cut off with a loud beeping sound, and the Austrian voice that was filling the room halted. Arthur pulled himself into a sitting position, dragging himself up by his elbows and finally opened his eyes. The new brightness stung and began to pierce corrosively through his aching head. As he managed to slump himself messily against the wall, a harsh ringing tone leaked back into the room; the shrill sound a plague to Arthur's ears. He shakily stood, gripping onto the nearby table to keep his balance on his trembling legs. It's not like he hadn't been through worse. Reaching the phone, he allowed himself to lean back against the wall in case he was to fall again.

"Hello?" he answered cautiously, his shaking hands only offering an unstable grip around the phone.

"Fucking finally!" Abigail chirped down the phone almost immediately, "Where have you been?"

_Oh, you know Abigail, just unconscious curtsey of my Dad. Nothing new._

"Busy," Arthur mumbled bluntly, stumbling back further against the wall as his legs weakly gave way underneath him.

"Bull!" Abby exploded, "I've been calling for hours! We were so worried!" For once the Austrian girl sounded somewhat angry.

"I didn't hear the phone," Arthur excused himself truthfully, "Wait, we?"

"Allistor called, he didn't know where you were," Abby snapped, and Arthur felt a sharp pang of guilt in his wounded chest. He'd promised he'd go over.

"You could have at least answered our texts," the Austrian continued, her voice was still dripping venom over every syllable.

"Don't bloody give me this shit!" Arthur snarled, his own body suddenly plunging into a fiery rage, "Pretending like you were worried! You're not even my friend!"

"Not even your friend?" Abby yelled, her volume increasing down the phone. This was strange. One thing Abigail never, ever did was raise her voice. "Well if you think that way, maybe I shouldn't be your friend!"

"You've never been my friend in the first place! Always running off to that fucking stupid albino," Arthur matched her furious yelling and his own voice got considerably louder.

"I've always been nice to you, for Gott's sake. You're just jealous because I can actually make fucking friends, and oh, look; now you've fucked it up with Allistor too. He thinks you're so up yourself after you stood him up."

Arthur froze suddenly, his arm around the phone becoming more wooden and his fingers becoming icy. For some reason, those words hurt him more than any other Abby had spat at him. Losing Allistor as soon as he'd met him seemed to be a dark thought.

"Fuck off!" Arthur snapped, slamming the phone down to hang up with as much force as he could muster, which wasn't that much considering his arms felt like they were made of some of Feliciano's pasta. He wrenched himself from the wall, and he couldn't tear his thoughts away from the new Scotsman. Picking up the ancient mobile phone on his way to dragging himself up stairs, ignoring the numbness in his legs and the burn in his head, he noticed he had 7 new messages.

Each one was from Allistor, give or take the odd two from Abby, one a little more panicked in the way of language than the last. The final message, however, Arthur paused to read slowly, trying to soak in the words. When he'd finished reading it the first time, he read it again. Then again. The obsession of verifying what the message actually said was overtaking his body, becoming more and more powerful the less he wanted to halt it.

_God, cheers Arthur. If you didn't want to talk to me you should have said. Now I know why everyone hates you, you ignorant ass._

The frustrated scream that escaped the Brit erupted around the house, echoing through every scrubby room there was, bouncing off walls and threading back through the ears of Arthur. He quickly crossed the upstairs hallway, heading for the bathroom.

He frantically glanced around, before finding the room tilt at an alarming angle and feeling cold tiles of the bathroom against his cheek. He dizzily collapsed to the floor, letting his head roll back to smack against the tiled wall. In that moment he realised he was crying. The hot tears spilled from his screwed shut eyes, the cried wracking through his whole body as he drew his knees to his chest. Heavy sobs ripped from his throat and made pained breathy whimpers emerge from his bruised lips. The salty liquid that extruded his eyes stung the deep bloodied gashes on his cheeks, the new found stinging pain from the welts made the tears fall quicker and the whimpers come faster.

Arthur's face turned to the side to look out from the gap of where his arms were hugging his legs and head together, in a vague attempt to soothe the shaky sobs that tore him apart. He caught sight of a blue bottle.

Bleach.

His arms let go of his head, to reach out to stroke away tenderly at the thick layer of filthy dust covering the brilliant blue. The Brit became more alert, and his tears were beginning to stop.

He knew what he wanted to do.

Drawing the bottle into his chest, Arthur twisted his hands against the crimson red lid, the brail feel scratching his fingertips. The lid of the bottle fell to the floor, some of the remaining bleach splattering onto Arthur's fingers, and the scent from the toxic liquid invaded his nostrils. All the stinging pain stopped, even the harsh burning coming from deep within his chest at the smell, and he feebly danced his bleached fingers across his tongue, skittering the flavour across his lips.

"Bloody hell!" The Brit hissed to himself, hearing his phone begin to buzz to life with a jaunty ring tone. The music had startled him, and the bottle had been dropped hastily to spill the toxin it contained onto the floor. However, the name that was glowing and jumping on the screen startled him more.

"Allistor?" Arthur spluttered down the phone as he flicked it open, his hands beginning to tremble once again. But this time, not from the fear of losing his first and possibly only real friend. From the worry of where he was going to find another bottle of bleach.

Arthur's mind was made up, and no one would miss him.

No one.


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N - YOU ALL THINK ABBY'S AN ASSHOLE. Well I'm an asshole too. Heeheheheheheh. Thank you for the reviews, mwah. WARNING HERE, contains mentions of suicide and self harm… just not that much. This chapter sucks. IT'S GONNA GET HAPPIER, HONEST. Hope you enjoy^-^**

"Arthur!" Allistor gasped hurriedly, "ignore t'text, Gilbert sent 't."

"You were with Gilbert?" Arthur replied flatly.

"Aye, Abby tol' m'yer address, I'm c'omin' ove' now." With that sharp note, Allistor hung up the phone. Arthur rushed to leap up from the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, ignoring the sharp burn in the back of his calves from the position he was sitting in. Why the Hell was Allistor coming over?

Where the Hell would he find more bleach?

Arthur sighed, frantically looking both left and right before exiting the bathroom. He was certain his father wasn't home, mostly because the front door wasn't closed properly; it was slightly ajar and hanging from the top hinge. But it still looked like it had been locked, somehow. The British teen soon found his feet carrying him; he sauntered down the stairs, and stood silently and awkwardly in the hall, as if he was waiting. He scanned his surroundings, catching sight of the broken glass that lay in dangerous sharp shards around a body shaped silhouette in the corner. Most of the glass was stained, like the tacky paintjob of the wall, with a sinister crimson liquid. He dropped to his knees, crawling cautiously to the broken glass and stained wall, his face a perfect picture of pained interest.

Reaching out his palm, stretching out his fingers he stroked tenderly along the wall, causing some of the peeling paint to come off in blood stained chunks on his fingers. The liquid rubbed onto his fingers, thickly dripping from the wall at the touch. Arthur stared at it, and stared at his bloodied hand; slowly coming to the realisation it was his own blood. The blonde Brit slowly rose to his feet again, his eyes not tearing away from his stained hand.

Arthur screamed. No, he roared. He wasn't worried or scared anymore, his body was trembling in a surge of corrosive fury. It had taken this long for him to finally snap. He was sick of it, sick of his father, sick of the broken family, sick of school. Sick of being Arthur Kirkland. It was almost as if the arrival of Allistor had triggered how much of enough he'd had. In a sudden motion, the angry Brit chased his shadow through the hall of his house with his hands never leaving the walls, leaving behind a thick streak of thick scarlet liquid. Arthur kicked everything he could, empty beer bottles, furniture and even the tattered radiator. The pain didn't bother him anymore; neither did the repetitive thudding on the door, accompanied by the thick Scottish accent calling, "Arthur! Are you there?"

In his fit of rage, Arthur managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was opposite him in the hallway near the kitchen. He wasn't even recognisable to himself anymore. His whole sheet of skin resembled the creamy white of milk, carrying a sick greenish hue and contrasting black bruising around his left eye. Both his eyes glinted with emerald anger, the red rims still present from his tears. Crouching and standing as quickly as the impulse came, he hurled a distinct green empty bottle from the floor at the mirror, and watched in sadistic satisfaction as the reflective shards fell to the wooden floor around his bare feet.

"Fuck! Arthur? Are y'a'right?!" the calls became more and more urgent as the smashing sounds were heard outside.

The Brit felt his anger dissolve, melting away and turning into the ever present burn of depression in his chest. Backing away from the mirror, he carried himself to lean against the kitchen table for support, as he was now noticing the piercing pain from his feet from where he had kicked about mercilessly. Allowing himself to collapse onto the table, he was vaguely aware of his front door smashing open, more glass flickering everywhere as a tall redheaded Scotsman bounded inside and looked around frantically.

Arthur spread out his sore limbs on the table, his hands searching the comforting cool wood, until they stopped at a rough plastic handle. A bread knife?

Who needs bleach?

"Arthur! Wha' happened?!" Allistor screeched urgently, making his presence heard as he stood in front of the Brit lying down on the kitchen table, "who did t'is t'ye?"

"I swear I will!" Arthur ignored him, spitting out the threat as his fingers enclosed around the knife.

Allistor's eyes widened, shaking his head furiously; but he made no move to stop the Brit. Arthur audibly sniffed, taking the knife across his wrist swiftly, not deep enough to cause damage but enough to break the skin. More of the familiar crimson seeped from the fresh wound, the angry gash marching across Arthur's paled wrist.

"No!" Allistor gasped, finally lunging towards the Brit to pry the knife from his cold fingers.

Arthur's eyes fell shut, his body not able to take much more of the pain. So much pain. Pain from his wrist, the stinging burn in his chest and his mind… the pain of everything. He'd never felt so desperate before, he'd never felt the need to be desperate. He felt himself rolling helplessly from the table and the room once again became hazy, expecting to be met in a heap on the cold, hard floor.

But instead he fell into two warm welcoming arms that held him closer than most. As quickly as it came, the need went, being soothed away by the feeling of the two cradling arms that wrapped protectively around him. He'd been so sure he wanted to die.

Why was Allistor so familiar?

"Te' m'what 'appened," Allistor murmured.

"My father…" Arthur began to splutter, the ache in his head somehow disabling him so speech was painful.

"Where is he anyway?"

The two suddenly heard a violent crunch of broken glass behind them, clumsy clunking footsteps coming closer, getting louder.

"Right here," a slurred voice informed Allistor, "who the fuck are you?"

**(Really bad) Scottish accent translations – **

**Aye, Abby tol' m'yer address, I'm c'omin' ove' now – Yeah, Abby told me your address, I'm coming over now.**

**Are y'a'right?! – Are you alright?**

**Wha' happened? – What happened?**

**Who did t'is t'ye? – Who did this to you?**

**Te' m'what 'appened – Tell me what happened.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N – Sup dudes. So I have tried with this again, but I don't think I've improved it much… it still sucks. . and as this was the version you all chose, I hope you enjoy it! IT HAS CHANGED SLIGHTLY IDK. Man don't hate me, hate my use of the English word and how I can't string together a nice sentence ^_^**

Allistor's head turned, slowly and solemnly in a fearful motion to the looming shadow that grew over the pair. The Scotsman protectively tightened the hold on the Brit, who was fighting to stay awake and stood to face the stranger that was Arthur's father.

The man was tall, with dark emerald coloured eyes, a colour similar to Arthur's. A crooked smile played his drunken lips, and as he exhaled the thick alcoholic scent was released into to tense silence. He didn't look too threatening.

"Fuck! Allistor?" he screeched suddenly as Allistor had fully turned to give him the full benefit of his angry Scottish glare. He stumbled backwards, his shaded eyes widening in shock. The beer bottle he clutched in his hand cascaded to the floor as if his fingers were suddenly buttered, the contents shattered dangerously and spilt messily over the dirty carpet. Allistor took a couple of defensive steps backwards, still holding the man's eyes evenly with his own steely green hues. Arthur began to stir, but only slightly, twisting in the hold of Allistor.

"How does he know you?" he mumbled against the Scotsman's chest, his eyes still screwed shut and his face contorted in agony. The eldest Brit gave a sharp bark of laughter, and Allistor shrugged, trying to put the pieces back together.

He knew this man. He knew the British teen.

The man knew him, and he was smirking; looking at him with smug expectation.

"I'm sure he can work it out," the drunken Brit drawled icily, sidestepping into the kitchen to stand face to face with the Scotsman. He looked so much like Arthur… so much like him. Allistor's brow furrowed, his gaze travelling away to the frail Brit that was hissing in pain inside his arms.

He knew him. He knew them. He was sure of it. How?

He looked so much like his brothers… the same emerald shining eyes, same bushy eyebrows, same British heritage… He'd only met Arthur this morning and all these thoughts had been occurring all day.

"Ye can't be…" Allistor murmured, half to himself, but as he looked up again the British man's grin had widened, and was now a blinding smirk that looked like it was about to tear his face in half.

"Oh, but I am." At that very moment, the front door burst open once again, this time almost fully ripping straight off its hinges.

"God!" an Irish accented voice spluttered angrily as he stumbled inside, giving the door an aggressive kick so it would open wider, "look at the state of this place!"

"I said you didn't have to come! I only wanted to see if Allistor was alright!" Arthur vaguely heard a different Welsh accent rattle back, but then the new pair fully scanned their surroundings. His nose wrinkled slightly in disgust,

"I see what you mean."

"And who the fuck ar- Cailean? Dylan?" the largest British man interrupted their mindless quarrelling, making both the boys jump in shock. The Irish accented boy, responding to Cailean cleared his throat, and attempted to straighten his shoulder, the other going by the name of Dylan tried to mimic him, but his face was screwed up with blank confusion.

"We just came to see how Allistor was…" Cailean told Arthur's father evenly, causing the other to give an enthusiastic nod behind him.

"How do you know us?"

They caught sight of Allistor, who smiled meekly, his arms still tight around Arthur. Dylan gasped, and the other started to shake his head, distracted from his previous question,

"Who did that?" he asked pointedly to Allistor. Allistor remained silent, a solemn glare settling on Arthur's father as he nodded towards him. Now it was Cailean's turn to gasp. The frail Brit groaned, twisting in pain against the Scotsman.

"I didn't want anyone to know…" he murmured. His father looked taken aback, his eyebrows tugging together in a thick scowl and his lips pressing themselves into a firm line, but his gaze never leaving the two new arrivals.

"You can't possibly think I'd do this to my own son…"

"Bu' ye did!" Allistor snapped back to him.

"No!" the eldest practically whined, his venomous attitude removed and replaced with something that resembled regret. Allistor shot him a simple acidic smile, one of his own large ginger eyebrows arching. He took an aggressive posture, keeping his features calm and relaxed even though inwardly he could feel fury spewing, bubbling over into a corrosive mess of rage. How could Arthur's father do something like this to him?

How could his father do something like this to Arthur?

How could their father do something like this to Arthur?

"The Brit can come with us," Cailean hissed to Allistor, but it was more of a command to his Welsh friend, with a motion to Dylan to step forward to take the Brit.

"Dragging your brother away in this state isn't very nice, you know," Arthur's father mentioned casually, letting a low drawl pass over 'brother', a hint of mocking rolling off his tongue onto the word.

"Beatin' m'bruther black an' blu' isn't eithe'," Allistor grunted with slight disgust dripping over his words, trying not to let his tone waver over the word 'brother'. He stood up straighter, almost to the other man's height; preparing for the worst.

"Brother?" Dylan stopped in his feeble tracks on his way forward to Allistor, swerving himself around the angered elder. He shot a glance to the Irish brother, but beginning to move forward again.

"Dadaí!" Cailean spluttered, somewhat confused but earning their father's attention, to Dylan's advantage of receiving Arthur.

He was slowly putting the pieces together, as was Allistor and Dylan… and Arthur.

"Brother…" Arthur mumbled quizzically, but lazily to himself, curling himself against the Scotsman's chest.

"I can do the same to the other brother, if you feel left out," their father said casually, turning his attention back to the Scotsman, saying it as if it were a daily request. Arthur practically felt Allistor's posture loosen and heat with anger against him.

"I'd like t'see yer fuckin'try," the Scotsman fumed almost silently, before he reflected his brother, dodging the Brit but never releasing his stony eyes with his own and eventually passing Arthur over.

Arthur grumbled at the change in hold, suddenly struggling to stand by himself and be released from the hold from yet another familiar stranger. How did his father know these boys?

"God!" Cailean caught his quivering body as he collapsed out of Dylan's arms, his feet delving for the floor, "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." The Irishman's voice was slightly strangled on his last word just as he recognised everything he'd been through. The trio moved backwards, backing up against the wall as the Scottish brother stood challenging their father.

Arthur wavered on his feet, clutching his wrist he tumbled to stand on his own – but not without the support of Cailean.

The next thing that split the cold atmosphere was a strangled yelp of pain that held a British accent. As he had gone to land a hardened punch, Allistor had caught the fist, and simply twisted it around his back. With his other arm free, purely in defence of himself the Scotsman reached up to deliver a blow to the Brit's face, which happened to be strong enough to knock him down onto the floor; squirming in his own default defeat.

Allistor hadn't expected him to go down so easily, and he didn't. He still had a tight hold on the back of his arm, which made the Scotsman double over as he fell.

The half sober Brit lay bright and alert on the floor, as if getting into violence and almost losing was something he did on a daily basis.

"You can't hurt me… I'm your father," he spat, venomously making his innocence stand out. Allistor shifted, dodging the body on the ground to stand against Cailean and Dylan… and a half-concious Arthur. His brothers.

"But ye' le't us."

**(Really bad) Scottish accent translations -**

**A'think we'd bette' be goin' - I think we'd better be going.**

**Arthur's com'n' wi'me - Arthur's coming with me.**

**Beatin' m'bruther black an' blu' isn't eithe' - Beating my brother black and blue isn't either.**

**I'd like t'see yer fuckin' try - I'd like to see you fucking try.**


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur's eyes opened, and he found himself in an unfamiliar room, everything seemed to be wooden and humble – comforting. The thin curtains from a nearby window fluttered softly from the subtle night air. He felt a silky weight around his left wrist, and as he looked down he noticed it had been bandaged. What had happened? How long had he been out? Arthur began to look around more; gaining more courage in his strange surroundings and he spotted a framed picture on the mantelpiece, three tall boys and another fair haired smaller boy with an odd sailor's cap. There was a woman stood behind them, her arms around the smallest boy who is grinning ear to ear. Arthur squinted to get a closer look, and he noticed that the three tall boys, one was Allistor and the other two were who were in his house earlier. He wished he could remember their names. They all looked so happy in the photo, the Scotsman and his brothers holding their natural carefree looks. But it seemed empty somehow, a space between people that looked like it needed to be filled; as if someone was missing.

The Brit groaned and tried to sit, but a heavy pain that ripped under the skin of his bruised chest weighed him down. He winced, and let himself fall limply backwards onto the… sofa? Where was he, and how exactly did he get here?

"So, yer awake,"

Arthur snapped his head around from where it rested on a pillow sharply, ignoring the pain that shot up his neck from his quick movement. He met the familiar face of Allistor, but instead of looking calm as he had all day; his eyes were burning forest green, piercing through Arthur as he stared. He looked a little intimidating, his words dragged out in a rough growl.

"Where am I?" the blonde asked him.

The Scotsman didn't respond at first, and only then did the Brit notice two dark silhouetted figures stood behind where Allistor was seated. He could vaguely make out two steely cold facial expressions, both with the same fiery green eyes. One had a hand rested on the chair back, and said hand twitched when Allistor snorted.

"W'bought ye home."

"Peter!" a heavy Irish accented voice screeched suddenly, his position averting his arm to outstretch a hand in warning. The darkness of the room was abruptly overcome with a blinding bright light as the overhead light flicked on with an audible ping of metal. The frail Brit smacked a pale long fingered hand over his face, to shield his sensitive eyes from the burning white that spread throughout the surroundings. He grumbled furiously to himself.

"See! We were trying not to hurt Arthur's eyes by keeping them off!"

"Now look what you've done!"

Arthur stopped his mumbling under his breath, and tentatively tried removing the hand from his eyes. The bite of the light wasn't as fierce anymore, and although he couldn't see clearly it was better than before.

"I'm fine," he murmured, at least trying to get the focus of yelling and argument off the small boy who'd appeared in the doorway and flicked on the lights. Now at least he could get a better look at the two who stood behind Allistor.

"Leave me alone!" Peter whined childishly, "Arthur said he was fine!"

They were tall; yet they all seemed to be around here. The one who responded with an Irish accent had bright fiery ginger hair, almost identical to Allistor, and the shorter of the two had dusty blonde hair again with dark emerald hues.

Dylan and Cailean, Arthur remembered.

"Little shit," Dylan muttered, but Cailean just waved an airy dismissive hand to him. The Scotsman slouched back in his seat and watched them with a large grin on his face; he looked thoroughly amused by his brothers quarrelling. The blonde gave a small polite cough, just letting them know he was still there.

"Sorry," they all said in unison, each separating and starting to form an awkward distance between all of them. Allistor's smirk widened.

"What happened?" the Brit quizzed, finding the sudden strength to heave himself up into a shaky sitting position. Immediately, Dylan shot forward to support him.

"Well… long story," the Irishman began nervously, hints of a trembling chuckle rolling up behind his words. He rubbed the back of his head and ruffled his hair, just as if he was easing pain. Peter got closer, joining the Brit on the sofa.

"You're my big brother, Arthur," he whispered, looking up with a joyous smile pulling his mouth to each side of his face. The Brit's eyes widened, shooting everyone in the room a glance, but to his surprise and somewhat dismay; no one was showing any signs of denial, but just awkwardness. Brothers?

He knew it. He knew there was something about that Scottish boy.

"What's he talking about… Allistor?"

"He's right," Cailean stated coolly, "we found you, Artie! Right, Scottie?" he nodded at Allistor, who returned the curt nod and his grin returned.

From Arthur's side, a strangled cry rang loudly from Peter, and there was suddenly a warm pressure on the Brit's shoulder. The smallest brother shuffled into him, worming himself under his skinny arm to bury his head on Arthur's chest to stifle his cries. The wet that leaked from his sad eyes triggered forced protectiveness from the Brit, and he felt himself tightening the arm that was weaved around the trembling boy.

"What's wrong, Squirt?" Dylan asked, he sounded vaguely shocked.

"Peter…?" Arthur breathed, feeling the shift of pressure inside his arms. Peter looked up, leaving various salty wet stains on the Brit's shirt. He breathing was shaky, and his eyes were glassed with scarring red rims.

"Nothing," he sniffed, "I'm just… so glad we found you... you - you stupid British jerk!"

Arthur still wasn't entirely convinced. He'd met Allistor this morning, and he did seem familiar- but not that familiar… if they were brothers, surely he'd of remembered something?

"But we can't be brothers…"

"But you are," there was a new person present in the room. Female, the voice was soft but low, gentle. They all turned to where the woman in the photograph Arthur had seen was standing, carrying herself with an easy grace that he'd seen today in Allistor. Arthur shook his head.

"How do you know?" he asked quietly. She smiled.

"Because I'm your mother."

"But my mother left me… so did my…" the Brit swallowed, and scanned the room to meet everyone's intent gaze briefly, "…brothers. You're not them!"

"Come on, Artie," Cailean whined, but he was smiling reassuringly too, "we're all Kirkland's here, and what other possibility is there?"

Arthur fell silent, considering exactly what they'd said. Were they brothers? Allistor… was familiar. Then there was the empty picture, and oh! Bloody Hell!

His father recognised all three of them, bar Peter, before they'd even said more than a word to him; let alone an introduction. Brothers? Becoming more and more probable.

"But…"

"What is it?" their mother asked soothingly, her voice still staying silky. Now it was Arthur's turn to feel tears prickle in his eyes, and for Peter to wrap an arm around him. Brothers? Definitely.

"Why did you leave me?"

**A/N – I'm actually quite happy with this. Whether it's fitting I'm not sure. BUT OOOOOH ARTHUR'S MAM. Whatcha think? NAILED OR FAILED? ^J^ I was thinking of making an OC for Cornwall in this… but, too far? Thoughts, dudes?**

**And… no more long A/N chapters, I promise. *offers pinky.* Thank you for reviewing!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N – Ok ok, this sucks. But the beginning is just kind of a conversation, BUT IF YOU READ FURTHER THERE IS SOME SCOTxENG, AND BROTHERLY CUTENESS. Or I think it's kinda cute. But maybe that's just me being big headed. I will try and do the continued conversation… honest. I hope you enjoy ^_^ any thoughts? C:**

Arthur, from the moment his question seeped into the open cold air, regretted what he'd asked and feared what she'd say.

Eily, he'd learnt, his mother, seemed taken aback for a second, before she sat uneasily on the arm chair opposite the sofa that seated Peter and Arthur and refused to look him in the eye. Cailean immediately joined her side, putting a protective hand on her shoulder. Eily's gaze was fixed on the carpet in the living room, not even shifting to look at the Irish brother as he sat next to her.

Quiet bitterly flooded the room, even Allistor became slightly shifty after a while.

"I didn't want to," she said gently after the long pause, the silence hanging over the room holding claws, "We didn't want to leave you."

"W'were gonna come back fer ye," the Scotsman chimed in, his tone soft.

"But we couldn't, we had to leave," Eily finished for him, finally looking up to meet his stony green eyes with a hard cold stare. She sighed, Cailean making a soothing circular motion on her shoulder while he cautiously smiled at Arthur.

"Or he'd of chased us… mam was hurt enough already," Dylan piped up suddenly.

"I never meant to leave you behind, Artie."

"But then today, Scottie came home and told us that he'd met an Arthur Kirkland, and mam just broke down," Dylan, the Welshman sniffed from the side of the room, from where he'd stood to keep his mutual distance from the still snivelling youngest brother.

"Aye, w'knew it were ye, so I'adda talk t'ye about 't."

"And now we've found you again!" Peter chirped his new input brightly, even though his high squeak of a voice trembled a little from his choked back sobs he'd suffered previously. Arthur looked around the room, every pair of eyes was on him.

"But… what's going to happen to my – our, father?" he asked.

"That bastard?" Eily enquired, her tone suddenly venomously cold, "we already called the police."

"You did what?!" Arthur suddenly yelled, from shock. He wrenched himself from the gentle brotherly embrace from Peter, gaining strength from nowhere as he sprung to his feet. Now she'd said that, he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be than home.

"W' weren't 'avin' 'im beatin' our bruther," Allistor informed him, his own Scottish toned voice metallic and steely.

"Can I go home?" Arthur asked quietly, feeling his blood run cold in surprise. Surely… calling the police was too far, even though he had been… beaten. The Brit swallowed hard, but Eily just laughed, her laugh a joyous high pitched chuckle that resembled the ringing of bells.

"You are home!"

"Plus it's late," Dylan concluded. The blonde snorted and collapsed back onto the sofa, almost flattening Peter but no one seemed to mind so much.

"How late?" The Welshman looked down at his wristwatch absentmindedly.

"3 AM."

The sound that emerged from Arthur's mouth couldn't have been humanly possible, in any other circumstance, and probably made every single dog in the neighbourhood stand to alert. So not only was his… their, father probably going to prison, and he'd found his long lost brothers, but they'd kept him up at their house until a dangerous time of the morning… when he got home his father would skin him alive.

But then of course, he might not be there. The Brit shivered uneasily thinking about all the possibilities.

"I think that means he's tired, mam," Dylan laughed.

"We're not done talking about this!" she scoffed, but Allistor had already stood to grab a hold of Arthur's arm. He turned to her and grinned. She met his eyes with a scornful frown that showed she wasn't up for an argument; and she obviously wanted to talk more about it. The Scotsman, however, took on her frown with a hint of his own casual challenge, while pulling Arthur up to stand beside him.

"W'can talk mor' in th' mornin'."

* * *

Arthur slipped into Allistor's spare night clothes; they were a little baggy; especially because of his slim build. On his way out of the bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. At first, he hardly recognised himself. He stepped closer, examining the boy who looked back at his. His eyes were blood shot, the deep ocean of green clouded with regret – but at the same time a light, beautiful tint of hope. His hair that was usually uniformly slick was scraggily hanging over his face and into his eyes carelessly, and his face… his face was ghostly pale with greatly contrasting black circles under his eyes. He didn't look like himself at all, but then he didn't really feel like himself either. He sighed, backing out of the bathroom and flicking off the light as he padded into Allistor's bedroom across the hall. He found his brother covered in his own night nightclothes, they were a much better fit on him – and he was already soundly asleep under the covers. Arthur nudged him lightly, and Allistor snuffled softly but shuffled across the single bed to make room for him, his eyes remained shut the whole time. The Brit climbed into the bed, pulling the covers back up and wrapping his arms around himself, pulling his own bony figure into his chest. He heard a content sigh escape the other, as he turned in bed to meet his eyes.

"She never did answer my question," Arthur wondered aloud, half to himself as he wriggled to get comfortable next to the Scotsman.

"Hm?" Allistor cracked open an eye to look at him quizzically. The whole drama of the day hadn't seemed to get to him.

"You know what I bloody mean." The Scot didn't answer at first, just made a few grumbling noises as he pondered his own answer.

"I tried t'find ye," Allistor answered eventually, "We all did." Arthur just lay rigidly by his side, as if awaiting more of an answer. Crying was again a distant possibility for the Brit.

"Where did you go?" Arthur felt his voice crack, fighting the rough burn of tears that triggered the sudden urge for hot tears to start rolling down his pale face once again. "I can't even remember you!"

Allistor also stiffened now, sensing the broken voice of his younger brother, before he sighed and wrapped his arms around the bony frame that belonged to Arthur, pulling his back to his chest. Arthur did nothing to escape the hold, just let himself finally cry some more.

"Cailean 'n, me, w'went up the Scawtish highlands, every day, lookin' fer ye, hopin' ye might b'there."

"I remember being there when I was a child… with you?"

"Aye, lookin' n' findin' Nessie. I looked fer her again too, but she nev'r showed either, just like ye, til no'."

"Cheese on the mountains…"

Arthur struggled hopelessly to get an arm free to wipe some of the weak tears leaking from his screwed closed eyes, remembering the time he'd been in Scotland. That was something he had remembered; but the person he'd been there with was all blurred and jumbled in his memory. Sometimes he'd thought that he'd actually made up the memories to convince himself he wasn't completely on his own.

…But then something worse dawned into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to chase it away with the thoughts of his imprisoned father, his new found brothers, or the fact he was crying in bed with a Scottish boy…

"Don't we have school tomorrow?"

School was the last thing he needed at a time like this, and facing Abby.

"Aw, naw," Allistor chuckled, "I oughta speak t'Abby tho'… oh 'n…w'ave a DNA test soon…"

"Doesn't your… our mother have something to say about that?" the Brit twisted in the comforting hold his brother had one him, meeting the taller's eyes with his own. Allistor's eyes were soft and warm, but they held an icy hue at the same time.

"She's th' one who arranged it."

"Oh… sorry," the Brit mumbled sleepily. So is there now a possibility that they weren't brothers? But they'd all been so sure. Arthur almost spoke up, but found his body being consumed by fatigue and the warmth from his… maybe- brother was weighing him sleepily into the mattress. Allistor took this as a hint, and kissed his forehead lightly, in a very un-Allistor like manor, before shutting his own eyes.

"Allistor… don't leave me again…"

"W' won't, w'need ye."

"You need me?" Arthur sounded briefly shocked. Allistor continued, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Tha's wit families d', the' stay t'gether."

"Fuck!"

There was suddenly a loud crash from downstairs, the sickening crunch of the front door being forced open and a heavy smashing of glass. In the very same moment, there were thick heavily accented screams of Gaelic being reeled off in a furious snarl, and echoes of a slurred drunken deep British voice. Bedroom doors flew open all along the hall, each brother springing from their beds, including Arthur and Allistor to bolt to the stairs to see who… or what was going on.

Cailean, catching sight of who immediately bounded down the stairs to stand an aggressive posture of protection over Eily, the Welsh brother closely following, hot on his heels down the steps. Allistor however was too fast for the Brit, blocking off all his vision and encasing him in his own brotherly embrace. It was someone he didn't need to see, and who didn't need to see him.

"Give me my Arthur back!" the screech echoed sinisterly, the voice eerily weaving patterns through the Brit's mind…

"But you said you'd called the police!"

So how could he be here?

**(Really bad) Scottish translations – **

**W'were gonna come back fer ye – We were going to come back for you.**

**Aye, w'knew it were ye, so I'adda talk t'ye about 't. – Yeah, we knew it was you, so I had to talk to you about it. **

**W' weren't 'avin' 'im beatin' our bruther. - We weren't having him beating our brother.**

**W'can talk mor' in th' mornin'. – We can talk more in the morning.**

**I tried t'find ye. – I tried to find you.**

**Cailean 'n, me, w'went up the Scawtish highlands, every day, lookin' fer ye, hopin' ye might b'there. – Cailean and me, we went up to the Scottish Highlands every day, looking for you, hoping you might be there.**

**Aye, lookin' n' findin' Nessie. I looked fer her again too, but she nev'r showed either, just like ye, til no'. – Yeah, looking and finding Nessie. I looked for her again too, but she never showed either, just like you until now.**

**Aw, naw, I oughta speak t'Abby tho'… oh 'n…w'ave a DNA test soon… - Oh, no, I ought to speak to Abby though.**

**She's th' one who arranged it. – She's the one who arranged it.**

**W' won't, w'need ye. – We won't, we need you.**

**Tha's wit families d', the' stay t'gether. – That's what families do, they stay together.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N- Okay, so I gave up on the Scottish accent. I admit I sucked at it, but you see I'm Welsh, I live up north though, so my accent is kind of… messed.. Don't know why I just put that here but oh well, pointless information you didn't need. I might re-write this chapter. Thoughts? C:**

There were some things Allistor Kirkland hated about life. Quite a lot of things, actually and sometimes too many things for him to count.

He remembered the night they left Arthur, although most of it was unclear to him. Sooner rather than later afterwards, he wouldn't speak to anyone, not even Eily and he turned to alcohol and cigarettes to keep himself alive…

Every day since the loss of his brother, he went up to his birth place in the Scottish highlands of Loch Ness. Many of the residents were happy for his return, he'd made plenty of friends up there from where he lived, but as much as he tried to tell them he was completely fine, none of them believed him.

He wasn't fine, they all knew it. But it was hard to con people with a living legend on their door step.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Eily suddenly screamed, her voice piercing Arthur's ears and suddenly tearing Allistor away from his thoughts. He didn't think the argument would progress, and he decided to think about…. well, Arthur. The Scot looked up briefly from his defensive embrace of Arthur, burying his face in his hair and doing the same to block his vision, to see their father grab a vase from the hallway table, Eily was fast but he was faster.

Their more calm way of arguing hadn't lasted long.

Gaining some courage, and some knowledge on what he intended to do, Eily elbowed their father in the stomach sharply, causing him to double over for a few seconds in pain.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Cailean was yelling, no, Cailean was roaring now, waving his arms.

It all happened in a sudden moment. There was the sound of porcelain shattering, a horrified scream, and the sound of someone falling onto the floor. Arthur looked up, harshly tugging away at the Scot's arms that kept his head in his chest, and his blood ran cold.

The first thing he saw was that his father had killed Eily.

The Brit forced himself to look to where she lay, drowning in her own crimson blood. She lay limp, a plagued expression fixated on her sickly pale face. The Welshman kneeling by her side looked scared, but Cailean wasn't afraid, not anymore; and everyone could see his entire body was bubbling up and trembling with a corrosive fury.

"Why did you do that?" his calm tone was a shock serving only to make the mist redden, although the seething anger was bouncing around his emerald orbs of eyes. Their father didn't say anything, not at first. He was staring at the body, shock and brief regret painted perfectly on his quickly paling face.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" the Irishman thundered when he didn't get an answer, his sudden increase of volume making everyone in the room jump. However, the bigger shock came from when their father dropped to his knees in front of Cailean, clutching his head in hands as if he was soothing an intense pain.

"I just wanted Arthur back…" he whispered.

"Well… you're never having him back," the voice that rasped was choked, agonisingly breathy.

"He's all I have left…"

"Mam?" Dylan's ears pricked.

"Call an ambulance! And the police!" Peter yelled, making the presence he had and went unnoticed by at the told of the stairs heard. He'd seen the whole thing.

Their father must have known what was to happen, but he didn't make himself move, the only visible movements he made was the steady rise of his chest and his choked breaths, protected by his arms that clutched his stomach.

~LINE BREAK~

"They'll fix it, Cailean!" Dylan was irritated now; he was sitting forward alongside Arthur, who had long ago fallen asleep leaning against Allistor. The seats in the ward they'd been shown to were made of a scratchy purple felt-like material, nowhere near as soft as it looked.

Peter struggled against the Scot's chest, Arthur mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

"I know the police came, but what are they going to do about it?" the Irish brother paced up and down restlessly, eyes never leaving their flicker of hope towards the private room in which their mother lay.

"I think ye need to calm down," Allistor grumbled, tensing his arms where the youngest shifted on his lap, and Arthur twisted his back against him.

"Calm down?!" Cailean snapped, and twisted his head round, his steely green eyes burning a piercing glare into the Scot, "that's our mother in there!"

"I know," the Scot replied gently, sending a quick glance to the Welshman for some clarification, "but at least we know who did it has been caught."

"Scottie's right, Cailean," Dylan looked up, his tone soft and soothing, but it didn't work on the bitter mood of pure fury that was buried in the Irishman.

"No he fucking isn't!" Cailean didn't calm, no matter how soothing the words and actions of his brothers; the actions committed to him had been the most unforgivable; he didn't know how he could now stand to look at any of them. "How can I fucking…" he was cut off abruptly, mid-sentence as an elderly woman passed the group, glaring at Cailean as if scolding him for his language with her steely grey eyes hidden with the sheen of her glasses.

"How can I fucking calm down, when that bastard there is the reason all this happened?" he continued his heated snarl once she'd passed, casting a bony finger in accusation at the sleeping Brit, who was still slumped against Allistor.

Arthur immediately stiffened, and the Scot didn't need much more notification that he wasn't actually sleeping… either that or sleeping very lightly.

"That's not fair…" Dylan reasoned lightly, his tone touching on being ever so slightly defensive, but at the same time cold.

"It's fair!" the Irishman spat, "if we hadn't found him, none of this would have happened!"

"Ye can't blame Arthur for this," the Scot warned him, visibly tightening the hold he had around Peter, "w'should be glad we found him." Cailean glared at both Allistor and Dylan in turn.

"Ie," Dylan chimed in again, "it's our insane father."

"I can't believe you're taking his side!"

Their intense bickering was interrupted by a small polite cough, and they all turned their attention, bar Allistor, who was still watching Cailean as if he was scared of a violent outburst of his fury, to a young… very beautiful Hungarian nurse.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she sweetly acknowledged their arguments- that could probably be heard a few floors up for that matter, and smiled, "I'm Elizaveta, your mother's nurse." This certainly got Cailean's attention.

"Do you know anything about our father?" Allistor asked her suddenly, as if he was the speaker on behalf of Arthur. The nurse's brow furrowed in brief confusion, but she answered.

"The police will be here for… Arthur, soon?"

"How is she?!" Cailean interrupted their conversation eagerly, his voice far too high and far too desperate. "I need to see her!"

"You can see her," she smiled, motioning for him to follow her.

"Cailean, wait for us," Dylan stood up, quite calmly to flex his legs and stretch, making an arch in his back to tease out the sting of sitting for so long. Allistor followed; still clutching the youngest to his chest, accidentally knocking against the sleeping Brit, causing him to sit bolt upright with an expression of wry shock. Cailean turned to them in scorn, snarling.

"Just… don't talk to me anymore."

He turned on his heel, stalking off behind their nurse.

"This is all my fault," Arthur mumbled absentmindedly, catching on to the conversation that he'd vaguely heard in his restless attempt to sleep.

"Naw," Allistor assured him, although he seemed a little distant himself, his eyes not leaving the back of the Irishman.

"He'll come round eventually."


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N – YOU'RE ALL GONNA BE MAD AT ME FOR MAKING AN ALTERNATE. But being honest I prefer this one more. Whatcha think? I probably won't update until after Christmas, but y'know. I'VE ALSO BROKEN MY FOOT. HAHA. I hope you all have a great Christmas, I wish you all the best for the new year and yadda BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL FABULOUS MWAH x**

Eily opened her eyes to find her head was throbbing, a piercing ache burning through her brain. Her vision blurred, but soon righted itself, and her eyes scanned the room, eventually settling on Cailean who was sleeping peacefully in the corner of the room in a hospital chair. She reached out for his hand and saw his eyelids twitch.

"Cailean…" she started softly, trying to get his attention while also trying to sit up, but the room began to dangerously spin around her. It was then she became aware of the scratchy warm pressure dropping into her eyes, bandages around her head. She couldn't really remember exactly what had happened, but she remembered enough. She reached up to tentatively touch her bandages, but gingerly removed her hand when she was consumed by a sharp stab in the side of her head. She reached out for his hand and saw his eyelids twitch.

"Cailean," she tried again. The Irishman's eyes snapped open instantly this time, darting his gaze around the room frantically, until he landed upon his mother. His mouth immediately pulled up into a small grin, and he stood to kiss her gently on the forehead.

"How's your head, mathair?" he asked softly, shifting backwards to relax in his seat. He leaned forward, suddenly alert.

"It doesn't hurt much," she told him truthfully, bravely reaching up to touch her bandaged forehead again. He nodded, but then he frowned at the lack of depth. "How are your brothers?"

"Do you remember what happened?" he ignored her question, debating with himself whether he should tell her what had happened or not. He couldn't say he didn't care about what happened with Arthur, he did, he just reasonably blamed him for most of what had happened.

"Answer my question first," she demanded, her voice more stern than before.

"We're not speaking," he sighed before he answered, barely mumbling out his words. The elder shook her head a little, sighing lightly herself.

"Why ever not?"

He shrugged. "It's all Arthur's fault," he started gently, but his volume eventually started to increase, anger rolling from behind his words from his tongue, "if we hadn't of found him, none of this would have happened."

"That's not fair, Cailean..." Eily told him softly, trying to calm him down from noting the hints of fury dripping into his voice, "don't be too hard on the lad."

His temper spiked, not even his mother would agree with him. He kicked back his chair, shooting a withering death glare of blazing emerald to his mother. A lesser would have caved under the heated look, but Eily remained unfazed, and wanting to get the last words in.

"Go talk to them!" she called as he turned his back to slam the door open and storm out, "they're your brothers Cailean!"

The Irishman carried on walking with the simple reply of, "I'll be back later," before the door clicked shut behind him. Elizaveta was stood outside, her cheery smile faded instantly when she saw the stormy expression of Cailean. She put out a hand, reaching after him. He still didn't stop.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fucking fantastic," he snapped back to her over his shoulder. He wasn't even sure where he was going, and every wall in the hospital looked the same, either decorated with patronising warning posters about not brushing your teeth or sinister blank white paint. He shivered, the thick heavy sterile scent weaving through his nostrils was boxing him in, and he needed to get out...

Arthur had the same idea. Between the new presence of the police officer, and the steely gaze he kept held on both Allistor and Dylan, briefly shooting at him, and the way they stayed completely nonchalant… it was a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, just like a little finger of worry worming around in the bottom of his chest. Allistor had offered to go and find him instead, but the Brit had found himself jumping up when the police officer had asked after Cailean…

"Watch where you're going!" Cailean snapped as they collided. The Irishman was hit with force from the other, but his larger build ensured him to stay in his feet, helping him to not crash to the floor. His younger brother, who he'd crashed into wobbled on his feet, getting ready to throw a glare up at him, but when Arthur saw who he was, he blinked, trying to decide whether or not to turn away.

"S-s-sorry!" Arthur stuttered, moving backwards quite hastily, almost losing his footing as he never took his eyes off the intimidating expression on his brother's face.

"Just another thing that's your fault," the Irishman replied breezily, waving a hand as if it didn't matter to him at all. Arthur almost snapped at that point. He was becoming sick of little digs like that, whether they were from his father or Gilbert… and now his very own brother?

"My fault?" he questioned, his voice dropping dangerously and losing the nervous stutter he had before. Cailean wasn't that scary...

"Aye," Cailean straightened his back, as if he was complying to his younger brother's thoughts and making himself appear taller. The blonde, at this point didn't really care, it seemed today was his day of completely cracking.

"Oh…" he trailed off, selecting his words carefully in his head, "and I suppose… it's my fault you found me, it's my fault I've been abused ever since you left me, and it's all my fault you had to leave in the first place?"

The Irishman's eyes widened a little, but he frowned, not a usual deep frown in anger, but one more resembling one belonging to an expression of guilt. He hadn't expected this. "Arthur…" he started gently, taking a small tentative step forward, "don't…"

"Don't what?" the Brit hissed, acid dousing his tone like poison dripping from the tongue of a snake, "because it is all my fault, isn't it?!" Arthur was near exploding, for the second time in the day that seemed to be taking forever to end. The taller of the two however, how scathingly angry he was before, was quickly losing his intimidating posture, replacing it with something more sheepish… ashamed even.

"No… Arthur…"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been told it's all my fault?" he spat, "I didn't ask for you to come and find me, I would've been better off if you and that fucking Scottish wanker would have stayed where you bloody came from!" His volume had increased suddenly, and when he finished his outburst based on fury… he seemed to shrink back into himself.

"Is that how you really feel?" Cailean was still shifting from foot to foot, refusing to meet his brother in the eye. In all honestly, Arthur didn't know how to answer and Cailean was afraid of the answer.

"No…" he mumbled shakily, all traces of his previous thunderous temper lost, "I just… I don't know…" he sniffed a little, rubbing his eyes and eventually letting his eyes close. He had grown smaller in terms of his posture, his breathing becoming heavy.

The redheaded brother stepped in closer, grimacing a little to himself. He slipped an arm around the Brit, pulling him in gradually to his chest in a hug.

"I didn't know you felt that way," he murmured, tightening his arms around his little brother protectively, "I didn't mean it."

"I'm sorry, Cailean."

Cailean didn't respond, he didn't feel like he needed to. Until he remembered...

"And what's this about a police man?" he asked, pulling back and holding Arthur by his shoulders at arms distance. The younger chuckled softly.

"You ruined the moment."


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N – I'm so touchy about uploading this because I think you all hate me :c I TRIED NOT TO MAKE IT SUCK, BUT I guess you'll all be the judges of that. Right? ;D I hope you enjoy ^-^**

The Brit now regretted his choice to go ahead and find his brother, even though they did sort of make up a fight they'd had – or rather, Cailean had had with Allistor about him.

The room was under a stony cold silence, the kind of silence that put a heavy weight on your shoulders, the kind of silence that you were afraid could crush you eventually. Arthur looked down at the floor, only occasionally looking up from under his hair that had flopped forward, shooting the odd glance to either Cailean or Allistor – who were both sat a little too casually, each of them glaring in the way of the policeman, as if daring him to break the silence with their eyes. Dylan was doing the absolute opposite, looking anywhere he could apart from in his direction, and Peter, he was glancing each of his brothers over in turn, his eyes flittering from one to the other nervously. You'd never expect this kind of silence in a police interview.

Finally, the police man cleared his throat and straightened up, attempting to look taller – but it didn't really make a difference, he was still short and quite square if you got close enough to him.

"I'll need to speak with Arthur alone," he said evenly. The result was almost immediate, Dylan being the only sensible one and taking Peter's hand, excusing them to leave the room. The Irishman made a few huffs of protest, but he soon followed them, and he obviously foresaw what was going to happen next, as he put his hand on the Scot's shoulder on his way out.

"Come on, Scottie," he put it more of a demand than something meant to sound friendly, but Allistor didn't move, he only sat forward.

"No," he replied simply, flexing his legs out in front of him, not even looking up at Cailean. The officer was trying hard not to sigh or roll his eyes.

"Go on, Allistor," Arthur urged, quickly giving an encouraging pat to his knee, "I'll be fine."

"The lad can look after himself," the Irish brother agreed, but the Scot was still shaking his head disapprovingly.

"I'm staying right here, just so I can make sure y'lock that bastard up fer what he's done, aye?" he started with a stiff tone, but it gradually decreased into a low menacing hiss, his gaze flicking from the police man to Cailean and then back again. Arthur sighed, recognising that he was trying to be intimidating, but the officer didn't look impressed.

"If Arthur tells him exactly what happened, there's no doubt about it," the tallest brother continued, sounding more consoling than forceful, his hand back on Allistor's shoulder. The redhead grunted, thought for a minute then gave in and stood up. On his way out, however, he took a detour in front of the officer making one last desperate attempt to frighten him.

The police officer flared his nostrils. It didn't work.

"Interesting family you have," he countered absentmindedly, taking a tentative seat close to Arthur as his two older brothers tripped each other out of the room, Allistor stumbling a little with a forceful shove from Cailean. Arthur should have felt alone, but he didn't – knowing they were both still outside.

"Why did you do that? Do you seriously want to make us look like a family of thugs?!" Arthur and the police officer heard an angrily Irish accented yell from outside the door as soon as it shut behind them, followed by a loud, clumsy sounding laugh.

"I thought we were," Allistor rattled back, obviously making a joke out of the whole ordeal, "can y'blame me fer wanting to protect wee Arthur? Naw, le's not argue 'ere, I need a smoke."

"Ugh," Cailean sounded disgusted, but his voice was getting less audible to the Brit, as if he was moving away, "fucking give me one too."

Allistor's reply was just out of earshot, leaving Arthur truly on his own now, and he felt it too.

"Very interesting," the police officer shook his head and made a small snort as if he was trying not to chuckle, and it was at that moment Arthur noticed the name on the front of his uniform, 'Rowan.' Rowan had very strange coloured hair which was a kind of silvery brown and bright sea-blue eyes.

"Agreed," Arthur responded coolly, bravely looking around from the door to look Rowan in the eyes for the first time.

"So," Rowan began, the blonde immediately picking up on the sympathetic tone he was using, it automatically made him feel physically uneasy, "I'm going to ask you some yes and no questions, and then we can go from there, is that alright?" Arthur just cringed back into his seat slightly and nodded, but he never once lost eye contact.

"Has your father ever verbally abused you?" he asked steadily, sitting back and reaching for the pen and small notebook he kept in the front pocket of his police jacket.

"Yes." What a stupid question, the brunette scribbled down some notes.

"Has your father ever physically abused you?"

"Yes."

"Has your mother ever verbally abused you?"

"No," that was another stupid question.

"Has your mother ever physically abused you?"

"No."

"Is it just your father then?"

"Yes." Arthur couldn't stop himself from thinking how this man even qualified asking a question like that, unless the questions he was asking were just procedure - then it made some sense.

"Arthur, has your father ever… touched you?"

Arthur almost choked, "excuse me?"

"Has he ever touched you?" Rowan repeated patiently, his pen hovering just above the notepad.

"No!"

"Has he ever made you do something you were uncomfortable with?"

"In other words, has he sexually abused me?" the Brit answered smartly, getting impatient.

"Well, you could say that."

"No, he hasn't."

"Right, well," the brunette looked up finally from writing down a last couple of words, "how often did the abuse occur?"

The Brit thought for a bit, piecing together carefully his answer in his head. "It depended, really," he said carefully, suddenly reluctant; almost protective of his father.

"On what?" the police officer leaned forward again, his pen hovering once more.

"How much he had to drink."

"Your father's an alcoholic?"

"Yes, or rather he has been since my mother left him."

"Arthur, about your brother…" Rowan was tilting his head now, looking more sympathetic than before.

"Which?" Arthur remained outwardly oblivious, resisting the urge to scowl or flinch away.

"Allistor… he wants your father to be locked up, correct?"

"Where's this going? The Brit's eyebrow raised slightly, but then he responded anyway, "correct."

"What do you want to happen?"

"With my father? I mean, _our_ father?" he could never get used to saying anything like that, '_our_ father.' The brunette nodded, carefully folding down his notepad.

"I want him… to," Arthur trailed off meaningfully, a thoughtful scowl pulling his bushy eyebrows together, "I want him to get help."

"You understand on the grounds of the evidence of abuse and assault you and Eily have given us, he'll still have to go to prison?"

"Completely," Arthur replied dismissively, only to be interrupted by the thud of the door hitting the wall as it swung open.

"Y'done 'ere?" Allistor was stood in the doorway, he didn't wait for either of them to respond, "can I borrow wee Arthur fer a second?"

"Go ahead," Rowan motioned to the door with his free hand that wasn't occupied by his pen or notepad, which he'd taken both into one hand.

"Cheers," the Scot said dryly, his whole tone changing like he had briefly forgotten that he wasn't too fond of the police officer, taking a step forward to grab Arthur's arm and yank him outside.

"What is it, git?" the Brit snapped with a little more venom than he'd intended as the door slammed shut behind him.

"I need t' tell ye something!" he exclaimed excitedly, not seeming to notice the acid tone of the other, both his arms spreading as if he was just going to wrap Arthur in a bone-crushing hug there and then. The shorter of the two frowned in mild confusion, or was it annoyance?

"And that couldn't wait till after I'd finished in there?"

"Nae!" the Scot grinned, "We're moving back up t'Scotland, wee laddie!"

"What?" Arthur felt his blood run cold all of a sudden, the colour draining from his face like his very own contrast switch had been turned. Surely he didn't mean they were leaving again… without him?

"Aye! It were all Cailean's idea, sayin' we have t'leave fer a while."

"But what about our father?" Allistor waved an airy hand.

"We'll sort somethin'," he replied breezily, it was almost shocking how casual he seemed about everything – but then again, that was the attitude he seemed to always have about him.

Arthur could barely choke his next words out, but with multiple stutters, he managed, "so when are you leaving?"

"What d'ye mean? Yer coming too, lad!"

"What?"

"I told ye, tha's what family's for, we stick together!"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I LIVE HELLO HI. I'm kinda happy with this chapter… another cliff hanger though? took me a while balahsuhjashjak and no, I really don't have a good idea on how things work with the police. MEH I hope you enjoy ^^ **

They, apparently, were leaving as soon as the interview was over. Allistor practically dragged Arthur by the hand out of the hospital, running and cackling like a banshee with his other two brothers running out behind them, Peter running further behind than any of them. Allistor was obviously pretty pleased, and it was a shame for Arthur that his happiness was paired with two rather long legs that made their run outside to the car more of a stumble as he struggled to keep up. Cailean wasn't with them, and he'd assumed it was because he wanted to stay with their mother. It seemed that they were both staying behind and they'd join them in Scotland when Eily could leave. The Brit had so many questions, but truth be told he didn't really want to spoil his brother's good mood with enquiries after Eily and their father.

"I'm not even packed!" Arthur managed to choke between gasps for breath as they reached the car and Allistor released his hand. "And since when do any of you drive?"

"Don't worry about that! Y'can borrow some of my clothes for a while when we get there," was Allistor's sure reply, and Dylan's other response to his other question was pulling a set of car keys out of his pocket and jangling them in his face with a smirk on his own.

"But your clothes will be far too big!" the blonde protested, but the Scot was already opening up the boot of the car to reveal a large packed bag. Arthur bit down on his lip, forcing himself to look and eventually turned himself to the packed bag. As he expected, it had clothes thrown in it- and around it, some hanging out, with what he could make out to be shampoo bottles and a comb jammed in un-uniformly. It was all topped off with a pair of his brother's chewed up Vans on top of the bag. He felt himself frowning and becoming slightly uneasy just at the un-orderly way it was packed.

"Fine, whatever," he waved a dismissive hand and sighed, "I guess I can get some more when we get up there." His clothes weren't really that important, and he'd rather not take himself back home. That made him think another question… if they'd all arrived at the hospital via ambulance, how had the car gotten there? And with all of their things too? One of them must have gone home to get it while he was in the interview, probably Dylan since he was the one in possession of the keys.

"Great!" Allistor slammed the boot of the car shut, making his way round to the front and he was closely followed by Arthur. Dylan was already sat in the driver's seat, looking like he was in his element, with Peter sat on the passenger side. He was eagerly bouncing up and down in his seat. None of them really looked too concerned, but maybe they were good at hiding it.

"We ready then?" the Welshman asked as Allistor opened the door to the backseat, letting Arthur climb in before him. He nodded, and in response Dylan started the car.

Peter craned his head round as Arthur and the Scot sat, each of them looking to him as he looked round. The youngest grinned a crooked smile, before he looked to Arthur and mumbled something that could have been, 'jerk,' under his breath. The Brit raised a bushy eyebrow at what appeared to be his new nickname in the way of Peter.

"Tell me about Scotland again, Scottie."

"Ah, Scotland, th' most beautiful place on th' earth and it has fucking beautiful lasses too…"

Arthur let himself relax into the seat as Allistor launched himself into a story completely biased on how amazing his country of birth really was. The way he described it seemed to have a passion behind it, it was obvious in his voice he was proud of where he was from. Dylan was smiling along and nodding to his story as he tapped his fingers against the wheel as he was drove, occasionally muttering curses under his breath about every driver on the road that wasn't him. Something about just being with them seemed right to Arthur, and as far back as he could remember they didn't always get on well; but they were family. And maybe the Scot was right; they were going to stick together this time.

The next thing he knew, Dylan was gently shaking him awake. Peter was in the seat next to him, the Welshman sitting over him and both of them looked equally concerned. It was brighter than it was before outside, he'd lost track of time completely since last night but now he guessed it must have been late afternoon. Arthur blinked a couple of times in the new light, and the first thing he noticed was that there was a peculiar lack of a Scotsman by his side. He guessed they must have been well away into their journey to Scotland now, as he didn't recognise where they were at all.

"What's going on now?" he questioned Dylan, who was still looking at him in concern. His face was pale, his eyes a deep green in contrast. Peter, however, was staring out into the distance of the car window; and soon Arthur caught on why. He heard it before he realised, an angry screech of a voice that seemed fairly far away, tainted with that strange accent that his big brother possessed.

"They've done what?!" he was shouting. Arthur was now looking in the direction Peter was, until Dylan caught his face and turned it back to him.

"I don't mean to alarm you, brawd," he spoke gently, "Allistor's on the phone to someone from the court…"

"And?" Arthur didn't think it was possible to move so fast and he jerked into an upright sitting position. Usually someone from the courts wouldn't bother him too much, but given his current situation…

"You're a heavy sleeper, you know? I'd have thought we'd have woken you..." he shook his head slightly with a light chuckle, his golden hair drooping messily into his eyes, "apparently, your father has had a claim… or something," he suddenly looked confused and he gave a small shrug of his shoulders, "someone is going to bail him out… they're saying that he wouldn't have ever laid a finger on you."

There was suddenly a thump on the side of the car, and Allistor came back into view but he still had his mobile pressed against his ear. His face was a perfect picture of anger, his lips curved upwards as if he was snarling. The bump they'd heard was his fist coming into contact with the vehicle.

"Well fucking fix it!" the Scot snapped dismissively, his tone venomous. His choice of language suggested that it wasn't someone too important he was speaking to, but it was Allistor they were talking about…

Peter had shied away a little, leaning more towards Arthur and Dylan in fear of the explosive temper of Allistor. The Welshman, being completely rational and in the knowledge of his brother's temper, remained outwardly calm.

Allistor hissed as noticeably whoever he was talking to hung up on the other line, and he made a sudden movement as if he was about to throw his phone as far away from him as he possibly could, but then – thankfully – he tucked it in his pocket and in its place pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

"What's happening brawd mawr?" the Welshman piped up. Allistor didn't answer at first, instead concentrated in fumbling about his other pockets for a lighter.

He waited until he'd lit his cigarette and had taken a couple of desperate draws on it before he answered. His face immediately lost its shadow of fury as he exhaled a thick billow of smoke.

"He's been released," he muttered, seeming suddenly sheepish. Dylan nodded. "Someone is bailing him out."

"Do we know who?"

"Nae… but at a guess it's someone who he's friends with," Aliistor flicked at the end of his cigarette, looking Dylan over before he moved his gaze to Arthur, who met it without flinching. "Any ideas?"

They were all cut off with the sound of a harsh buzz of a mobile phone, but Arthur was the only one who felt it as well as heard it. He fished around in Allistor's pyjama shirt pocket – he'd forgotten it was there, that he'd taken it with him as he left for the hospital the first time.

On the screen flashed up a message that made his blood run cold. The sudden panic must have been plain on his face, and he felt his body shudder slightly.

"Hand it over," Allistor demanded. Arthur did so immediately, and all three of them, Peter included watched as he suddenly dropped his smouldering cigarette down to the ground and crunched it under foot with a sickly sounding crunch.

_1 New Message Received: 16:07_

_From: Dad_

_ Been let out, who'd have thought eh? When are you coming back home? We need to have a little… chat._

**Brawd mawr – big brother (Welsh)**

**Brawd – brother (Welsh)**


End file.
